Prelude To Ib
by AhPohSiput
Summary: Detailing the events prior to the start of Ib, from both Ib and Garry's perspective, and what happened to Garry before being discovered by Ib. First try at writing for Ib, and writing fanfics since ages ago. Reviews enthusiastically expected and received! Rated K plus for mentions/descriptions of blood in later chapters.
1. Ch 1 Food for Thought, Food & Thought

**Well, this is my first time writing an Ib fanfic, and my first time writing a fanfic in a long, long time, haha. Sorry if I tend to describe things more than I narrate; there isn't meant to be much emotion involved in this fic, plus there isn't that much story to work with. I don't want this fic to be a long one. Hope you enjoy it! - Nic**

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Beep. Beep. Beep...

"_Uhh, what...?"_

Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeeeep...

"_Mmm...roses are red, roses are blue too..."_

Beeeeep. BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEE-

"_No, I don't like dolls_...whahua-EEEEEEEEEEKK!"

In one swift, panicked movement, Garry threw off his blanket as the high pitched, piercing sound of the alarm clock lanced his ears. Dressed in his pale green tank top and brown pants, he lay on the bed for a moment, massaging his throbbing ears to numb the pain, which took more than a moment to fade away.

He'd forgotten to set the clock further away from him, again. Mentally slapping himself, he picked up the fallen blanket and glanced at the clock. Against a black background, green shapes formed "7:14am".

Garry sighed. He'd only meant to wake up to snooze till later, but later wasn't coming anymore.

"_Come on Garry, there's a bright side to it - at least you won't be late going to the art gallery."_ The art gallery! He'd heard of it from a friend, who claimed that the artist whose works were on show - a Ghertenyah or Guerteena of some sort - was a master of the arts in both the technical and abstract; painting, sculpting, you name it. Garry was exhilirated to know that there was one not too far away; he hadn't been to an art gallery in ages. Sure, they could get boring sometimes, but you were fine as long as you didn't go too often and varied your choices.

Suppressing a yawn, Garry trudged over to the open wardrobe, which sat next to a small dresser and mirror. On the far right was his long, navy blue coat - a rather renowned piece of clothing among his peers because of its weird, tattered style. Few didn't remark on his fashion sense, or his behaviour for that matter. His mind drifted to a memory: once, in high school, a couple of jocks from the football team had cornered him. The usual wuss beating party, but he wasn't surprised, though he had been a little scared. They were distracted because they couldn't make up their minds on how to beat him up, and he'd managed to escape through a gap between them (they couldn't have been such good football players to let that happen, now that he thought about it). It wasn't that he liked behaving well, feminine, he just believed it was better to be gentle as opposed to being rough, that was all. What was wrong with that?

Garry pulled the coat off its hanger and put it on, feeling satisfied as his arms went through the soft, cool material. It was almost soft enough to be a blanket. He grabbed a few other things from the dresser; his wristwatch, which he fastened to his right arm, and his old lighter. He'd quit smoking long ago, but still kept the lighter as a reminder to never start again. He shuddered a little, remembering how hard it'd been to stop. The only reason he hadn't given up was because a little girl had been frightened when she saw him lighting a cigarette, and her mother had promptly pulled her away, muttering something like "Just like your father...killing themselves _and_ their loved ones".

He tucked the lighter into his pocket, then proceeded to head downstairs. He'd have breakfast, then perhaps head to the sweetshop nearby. The art gallery didn't open till early afternoon, so he still had plenty of time. "Maybe I should get the lemon one today, they're pretty good," he mused.

* * *

The sky's not very nice today. It looks like it'll rain...I hope Mama remembered to bring in the clothes.

Today Mama made pasta for lunch, with tomato sauce and dark green bits of leaves, which she said was called basil; it was a type of herb, she said, and it smelled very nice. Mama says we should learn to eat all kinds of food, not just Japanese. She likes to cook food rather than go out, too, although Papa doesn't always agree. Sometimes I help her to wash fruits and vegetables, or mix the batter in the bowl when she bakes.

We're having lunch early, because we'll be going to an art gallery. Mama and Papa both asked me where I wanted to go this weekend, so we could spend some family time together. I've never been to an art gallery before, but a new one just opened nearby, and it sounds like fun, so they agreed.

"So, Ib, are you excited to go?" Papa said with a smile. I looked up from my bowl of pasta and smiled back, and said "Yes!". "There's a lot you can learn from art, Ib," he continued. "Some things don't make sense sometimes, because when the artist paints or makes something, he puts his own ideas into it. But that's what makes art so interesting to look at! Remember that, okay? Especially at the gallery later." "Mhmm," I say in earnest, and Mama laughed. "Look at her face," she exclaimed. "She's taking in everything you say so well! I'm sure you'll have a _great_ time at the gallery, Ib."

After lunch I pull my sleeves back down, which were rolled up so that sauce wouldn't get on it. I'm wearing my school uniform, which is a white long-sleeved blouse, a big red ribbon and skirt, black stockings and red shoes. Mama's wearing a long red dress, and Papa's wearing a dark blue suit and trousers. We're all ready to go now. "Did you remember everything, Ib?" Papa asked, and I nodded. "Oh!" Mama interrupted, as we walked out through the door outside. "Do you have your handkerchief? You know, the one you got for your birthday?" I nod one more time; the white lace handkerchief, with my name stitched in red at one corner, is in my pocket. "Keep it safe in your pocket, okay? Don't lose it!"

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**Edit: I've changed the title to "Prelude to Ib", Ib being the game itself, not the character. Just so it would make more sense, since I'm including Garry's story before Ib finds him as well.**


	2. Ch 2 Impressions & Discomfort

**Finally, the next chapter 8'D I never realised how long FanFiction took to write till now. Oh well, 2 chapters down and approximately 2 more to go! Sorry for the long wait :\**

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Garry stepped into the gallery, and was greeted with what looked like plain architecture at a first glance. Simple white marble formed the gallery's floor and steps, while its solid walls were a pale grey. Soft, classical music played into his ears, present but not intrusive, as he casually strolled through the hallway to the information counter. A poster featuring one of the artists' works, a large anglerfish in the deep blue sea, was on the wall behind it. '_Weiss Guertena: Works of Dark Beauty_' read the title of the exhibition at the top, next to a large 'G' on the left.

"_Ah, that's how you spell it."_

The old man behind the counter beamed warmly. "Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the gallery." Garry returned the smile, and wordlessly handed the man the money, a rather substantial amount at that, for his ticket. The man passed him his ticket. "I trust you'll very much enjoy the works of the late Guertena. Enjoy your time here." Garry nodded in polite agreement, and headed towards the large entrance, where the doors had already been opened. "_Let's just hope this gallery is worth the amount I spent on it_," Garry thought, though in reality he wasn't all too concerned.

Stepping past the sturdy oak doors, the first thing Garry saw was blue. So much dark, deep _blue_, stretching across the floor, in subtly changing shades and tones. Far away from the calm looking ocean, the borders of the painting were fierce, haphazard strokes. "_Dark beauty indeed._" From where he could see, to his right swam the great big anglerfish he had seen on the poster earlier, razor sharp teeth adding to its already menacing presence.

"Eek! I feel like it's sucking me in..!" a red-haired lady whimpered softly to herself. Garry decided to take a closer look. She was right - staring into the painting, it really did feel as though there was a certain _depth_ to it. He was almost sure that if he'd decided to try it right now, he could step straight into the painting itself.

Garry walked over to the display and read it. "Abyss of the Deep" was its name. "_A world where man will never stand...To realise that world, I decided I would engrave it within the canvas._" Garry smiled at the artist's straightforward, deep intentions.

Lifting his head up to look around, he saw that the gallery was still quite empty, which was great; he'd have the luxury to take his time around here. Eager now to explore the rest of the gallery, he set off at an easy stroll.

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"Ah, here we are, Ib!" I looked out of the car window, and there was the gallery, a large, neat white building. The sky is much brighter now, a nice bright blue with no clouds. I'm not showing it, but I really am excited to go in. Papa had said in the car that the artist didn't have a good life, with lots of painful things happening to him, but that was what made his artworks so beautiful and well known. "Come on, oh - careful, darling," Papa said to Mama, as she was climbing out the car. "Ready, sweetheart? Alright, let's go!" Together, side by side, we walked into the gallery.

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Garry's art taste pertained largely to what sort of emotions he felt from them. Guertena's works were diverse; sculptures and canvas art displayed in equal quantity and quality. 'Glass of Antipodes' was a rather thought-evoking piece. The 'Selfless Guard' caught his attention too, its pure white subject embodying a sense of unwavering protection. One particularly large display, 'Twinkling of Crystals and Stars', was made up of four glass tubes that stood two to a side. Inside, silver specks of varying sizes floated within clouds of dreamy lavender and violet, creating what felt like a sleepy, enchanting bliss.

There was, however, one sculpture that succeeded in holding his attention for more than a couple of minutes. Titled 'Embodiment of Spirit', it was a huge red rose, curling from a deep green stem that formed its base, numerous thorns and two large leaves sticking out of it. Despite its size, the entire rose, from its blood red folding petals to the spiraled base, was far from imposing - in fact, it looked strangely fragile. Garry felt an even stranger need to protect it, to desperately stick the few petals that were on the ground back to its body, and to keep the whole thing from collapsing.

The more Garry observed the late artist's opinions and thoughts in their physical form while he explored the gallery, the more he obtained an odd mix of impressions from them. Garry wasn't completely sure of what to feel about Guertena, but within his mind, he found a certain reverence in his works' meaning, a hidden but longing sorrow, and perhaps, layering the canvases and sculptures beneath, beauty in a tint of madness.

As time passed however, Garry thought he sensed that behind the clean, pure walls of this gallery and its exhibits lay a strange sense of foreboding. "Really Garry," he couldn't help murmuring out loud to himself. "You're probably just a little creeped out by that anglerfish you saw earlier. There isn't anything wrong with the art gallery; it's just the artists' works that are so mysterious and enthralling." Still though, he couldn't help pulling his tattered coat a little tighter around him, as he headed upstairs to the next floor of the gallery.

More and more people were beginning to pour in now, as the day wore into the early afternoon after lunch. With more people came more noise, people quietly discussing their opinions of the art pieces. Visitors of all ages had come to see what the famous Weiss Guertena had to offer - old couples, middle-aged men and women, and even children. As he was observing one of the more disturbing works, 'The Hanged Man', he'd seen a young girl rush past him from the corner of his eye.

It was almost 2 now. Garry would have to leave soon, having offered to help a friend move some heavy boxes into her new home. There was one last interesting painting to see, however - a large canvas that took up the wall of an entire room. Stark colours, black, magenta, green, ultramarine, were all splashed across the white expanse with almost no direction, but among the strokes, Garry could make out a few recognisable objects: a red rose to the left, and Guertena's "Lady in Red' painting to the right.

Curious to know why this painting held such a special place, Garry peered at the description. 'Fabricated World', said the title. Arching an eyebrow in piqued curiousity, he continued reading...

But he never got to finish. With the sound of a shattering lightbulb, the room flickered, and the world became pitch black.

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**Couldn't help inserting a cliffhanger :P I couldn't make the chapter any longer anyway, not without having to type for another 2 hours (hours I don't have!). A little note about Garry and Ib's respective narratives: Garry in third person just felt more natural for him, whereas with Ib, I see her as the more introvert, inner-thinking type, hence the first person narrative. She also sounds pretty serious for a child, which again pertains to her quiet, deep nature - and I'd like to think she's very intelligent, too. xD**

**EDIT (18/9/12): Yes, I am updating. Bit by bit, a little at a time when I can...ugh, I never knew my final year of high school could be this busy from the start. Sorry for the wait.**

**EDIT (6/12/12): Good gracious, look who's finally able to write again...after being swamped by exams, school trips, work, and a case of self-made writer's block, I'm ready to get back and finish this thing. To everyone who's liked and have been following this story, thank you, and sorry for the wait Dx**


	3. Ch 3 Growing Dread

**Phew, and it's finally here! I'm so sorry for the long wait...don't worry, this fanfic will be finished, I have no intention of leaving it now :D Thanks for following this story, and hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter!**

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As quickly as it had gone, the light came back on in seconds.

Garry barely had the time to clamp his hands over his mouth. Lying on the ground, eyes wide open with shock and fear, the remainder of his scream, embarrassingly high-pitched, spewed out in a pathetic gurgle of whimpers.

"_Wh-wha happening just t-t-the lights went out I'm not gonna d-die am I-" _Garry forced himself to stop thinking before the rush of panic flooded his head. He had to keep it clear if he was going to do something, well _anything_ right about the situation.

Slowly, he got up. The gallery was now silent, save for a soft, rhythmic thumping sound coming from somewhere, barely audible. Where had everyone else gone? Had he blacked out in shock and woken up to a now closed gallery?

"_I hope I'm not trapped in here,"_ he thought worriedly. Chances were that the gallery had indeed already closed - maybe he could reach the entrance before the guards locked it up.

Tentatively he took a step. Nothing happened, just that constant thumping. Another step. Inch by inch, his speed slowly quickened. And still the thumping sounds continued.

_Wait._ The sounds...the way it alternated one after another, echoing through the rooms...they almost sounded like...

Footsteps. They were footsteps.

Fresh fear flooded into him, and Garry broke off into a run. He ran on and on; he couldn't tell where the footsteps were coming from, but he wasn't about to sit around and wait for whatever was making them to find him. It wasn't till he'd reached the bottom of the stairs that he realised that the footsteps hadn't changed in speed _or_ distance - the sound just kept echoing off the walls.

Panting, Garry bent down to catch his breath. He looked towards the entrance - he could see that it was locked. No guards, no one. At least he knew there was nothing chasing him now. But still, the eerily silent, empty gallery didn't do well to bring his hopes up. Something was definitely not right here.

To his right, past the information counter, he noticed a couple of low windows. Walking towards them, he tried to peer out of the rightmost one - only he couldn't. The window was misted up, covered entirely with foggy white. Garry frowned; the sky had been bright since afternoon; there was no reason for there to be fog. He lifted his hand, and was about to wipe the glass when a red liquid suddenly trickled down from the top.

"GAHH!" Garry stumbled backwards, nearly falling. But nothing else followed, and he decided it was safe enough to take a closer look. The liquid was dark and thick, and looked like...no. He certainly hoped it wasn't that.

He turned towards the desk, and would've given up looking around and sat right then and there if he didn't see something new: a blue arrow on the wall, pointing towards the stairs.

_Upstairs? Why? _Given the recent happenings, he was less than enthusiastic to comply. But then again...if he stayed, would anything happen?

It could be dangerous. And if it was, then ignorance was indeed bliss, maybe he would be better off staying.

_Come on Garry. Don't be such a coward. It's not like this place really is haunted or anything, it's just random sounds and things you missed messing with your head._

He made up his mind. Cautiously he took the stairs, one slow step up at a time.

The room looked perfectly normal, if flickering lights and distant footsteps could be considered as normal. The same paintings and sculptures lay in their positions. Maybe he should look around, find a hidden exit or another arrow-

_THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD._ Garry flinched, instinctively shielding his face with both arms and dropping down to a half crouch. When he lifted his arms, what he saw froze him in place.

The floor, the walls, ceiling, in fact every surface around him, save for the paintings was covered in carelessly painted words. Dark blue and oozing downwards in long, dripping lines, alphabets arranged themselves repeatedly, plastering the surfaces at random. They formed two words.

GARRY.

COME.

A chill began to creep its way up Garry's back. Art galleries did not do this. Lights going off, blood, no, _paint_ dripping down windows, and now paint words appearing out of nowhere, calling him _by his name_...

The heavy loud sound of shifting concrete brought him back to focus. To his shock, he saw that the Hanged Man painting had disappeared. In it's place now was a tall, rectangular hole. _No, not a hole_, Garry realised as he tentatively took a closer look. An entrance. Cold air, seeping from the dark void blew past him, but despite the darkness he could make out a thick, long object hanging in the chasm - a rope. An image of The Hanged Man appeared in his mind, making Garry shudder.

The rope dangled down into what seemed like nothingness. He wasn't sure if it was long enough to go all the way down. Surely this couldn't be an entrance? If he went, whether he died or not, there'd be no going back. But his gut feeling told him this was the way, the only way.

He was scared to death, but forced himself to reach out. His hands slowly tightened around the thick intertwined cords. At least they gave him a solid grip.

Now for the hard part. Garry glanced downwards again - nothing but black. _You can d-do this...deep breaths! _Composing himself, he repositioned his grip on the rope, closed his eyes...and with a light jump, his feet left the gallery floor.

Gravity to pull him down, aiding his descent. Making sure his sweaty hands stayed firm, nervous laughter began to escape from his mouth. He almost couldn't believe he was doing this. _Could I still be dreaming? It sure is one real dream then...I wonder how far down this rope goes..._

Garry didn't have time to guess or find out. As his hands left the end of the rope, a split second held his body free in the empty space. It was just long enough for him to register that the rope _didn't_ go all the way down.

A split second later, he was falling through water, eyes wide open and unable to scream, even as a giant anglerfish circled with its razor teeth bared, and the heavy black water drew him down, down, down.

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**I hope this depiction of Garry's entrance into the Fabricated World is accurate enough, I don't remember what he said about entering and can't check without using a different computer (Mac user problems) :|**

**Next up, the final chapter to this story! This fanfic's been pretty experimental for me for writing voice, style etc., since I haven't written anything not school-related in forever. I've decided to use less flowery vocabulary/language from this chapter onwards, but the chapters seem to be cohesive enough. Well then, away we go!**


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